Gauguin Never Had This Problem
by laurelisland
Summary: Lorne picked the wrong day to paint.


_Disclaimer: The characters and the universe aren't mine, the fic is. I'm not making any money off this. _

_A.N. This fic is a response to an old first-line challenge on the SGAHC Yahoo group. It was beta'd by Fifi, my loyal beta. All the mistakes that may still be around are my own._

* * *

»Good grief, is he _naked_?«

Lorne turned to face the source of the shrill voice. There, right behind his back, was the little grey guy. Again. He sighed.

»Hairless, you mean?« he asked, looking at his painting in progress. Hermiod was suffering from a cold, an Asgard variety with symptoms very different from what the Earthlings knew. One of them was that the alien became very annoying. It wasn't the first time he'd had to explain that lizards weren't supposed to have fur.

»Whatever.« Hermiod sneezed, which sounded more like a whistle than a sneeze. »It's not good.«

Lorne had to exercise utmost control so he didn't throw the tube of green paint at the alien. He knew he should have stayed in his quarters; he was painting from memory anyway. But no, he had to come to this balcony where Asgard were free to roam. Hermiod, insane from his cold, came to check on his progress every few minutes, criticizing him. Apparently, he fancied himself an art expert. Lorne didn't dare to imagine what passed for art among his people.

Instead of making a random stroke on the canvas, he growled, silently wishing Caldwell could have gotten Freyr to help him instead of this guy.

The little alien stretched his hand towards Lorne's paints and dipped a finger in one of the colors on the palette. He test-sniffed the paint on his finger, staring at Lorne with wide eyes.

»Hey!«

»This is not a good mixture,« he complained.

Lorne sighed. »'Not a good mixture'? Should I add olive oil or something?«

»It would probably do no harm.« Hermiod scratched a spot behind his ear with another finger. Itching was apparently one of the Asgard cold symptoms. He then proceeded to wipe the paint on Lorne's T-shirt. Fortunately Lorne wore the T-shirt he always used for painting; one more smudge wouldn't make it any dirtier. Not having wiped off all the paint, Hermiod repeated the procedure.

»Will you just go?« Lorne hissed. He was in danger of making unusual brush strokes on the Asgard's face.

Without complaint Hermiod left.

Lorne walked over to the railing. He took a few deep breaths, knowing the grey nuisance would be back in a few more moments. He needed a break.

He turned around when he saw the alien already standing at the easel with a brush in one hand. He wondered how it was possible that he didn't hear him come in?

»What are you doing?«

»You left an empty space there.« Waving the brush in the air, Hermiod was in danger of spraying the canvas with bright red paint.

»That's because I'm not finished yet.«

He walked over to the alien and took the brush from his hands. Of course, that was what it looked like to Lorne – a neutral observer would describe it differently; Hermiod was somewhat reluctant to let go and a brief tug-of-war followed. Soon, Lorne had had enough and let go of the brush. Unfortunately, Hermiod had the same idea at precisely the same time; he was hoping to further aggravate the soldier, so he let go when he felt the tug at its strongest. As it was, the brush clattered to the floor and sprayed the Asgard with red paint down his side.

»I see you're into abstract and performance art, Hermiod,« Lorne said slightly sarcastically.

Hermiod answered with a short string of Asgard words that sounded decidedly rude. He left the balcony for, what was safe to presume, a bathroom.

As soon as the alien was through the door, Lorne started his stopwatch. He might confront Hermiod with his precise timing, although he seriously doubted that that would get him rid of the Asgard, at least until his cold was history.

He dipped another brush in yellow paint and meticulously applied short strokes to an image of a maple-like leaf of a plant from M4X-882. One stroke. Second stroke parallel to the first. Third stroke, at an angle. The fourth stroke was only a millimeter long, when Hermiod reappeared. Evan quickly stopped the stopwatch with his other hand. Minute and forty-eight seconds. He could tell Hermiod was in a hurry because he was still wet and had missed a bit of paint on his shoulder.

»You're fast.«

»I am only acting in your interest. You could make a serious mistake without my supervision and ruin your painting.«

»Exactly, see. It's _my_ painting. If it's ruined, it's entirely my problem.«

»No, it isn't.«

»And just what gives you the right to criticize my _hobby_? Are you an expert art critic? Do you moonlight as an art instructor?«

Hermiod narrowed his eyes, but didn't answer.

»You criticized everything you've seen me do – the way I turn my wrist when I paint, the paints, the colors, the subject... What else is there?«

»Anyone can see your composition is childish at best,« Hermiod kindly added and scratched his ear again.

»It's a lizard and a plant. What am I supposed to do? Overlay them?«

»That would be an interesting effect. However, I do not think you are adept enough.«

Lorne turned to face the easel again and tried hard to keep his mouth shut. If he didn't, he would most likely sound like an animal.

The one thing he was almost sure he got wrong was the lizard's tail. He painted by memory and sometimes a detail here or there escaped his mind. »I should've taken a photo,« he said to himself.

»What?«

»Nothing. Go away.«

»No!« Hermiod's shriek could have been a response to Lorne's request, but his hand on the artist's sleeve suggested that it was something to do with the painting that didn't agree with him.

»What now?«

»You can't use the blue paint.«

»Why not?«

»The kalar fruit tastes very bitter when it's blue at the edge. They chase away the lizards.«

Lorne was about to protest, but he remembered that pointing out that it was a painting and not necessarily the same fruit would get him nowhere and aggravate them both.

He had tried several balconies already. They were his favorite places to paint, after all. While it was true that he usually painted views of Atlantis, the ambiance helped him with other subjects as well. It wasn't as fun with a self-appointed critic tag-along.

He had started out on the main balcony on the fifteenth floor of the supply tower – his usual artistic haunt – where Hermiod first cornered him. Lorne then escaped to the Ancient Plant Balcony, as one of the balconies on the control tower was called. Hermiod appeared ten minutes later. Then he followed him to the mess balcony, the balcony next to the geology labs, even to the balcony of Doctor Brown's quarters, which she lent him while she was at work. Lorne still wasn't sure just how did Hermiod break into her quarters. And wherever he went, the criticism followed. This is wrong, that is wrong, you missed a spot there – on the backside of the canvas, keep the palette in your left hand... Hermiod wouldn't stop.

For a few moments Lorne considered returning to M4X-882. He'd be safe from sick Asgards there. Maybe he could find another of those lizards to pose for him too.

He was about to suggest the alien go bother Doctor Beckett or McKay when he heard the sound of footsteps. It was Colonel Sheppard, approaching the balcony. Lorne started folding the easel without the little alien noticing. As soon as Sheppard left, he'd excuse himself and go paint in his quarters.

The Colonel didn't even reach the door. The moment he noticed the Asgard was there, he made a clean U-turn and left before he could see Lorne.

»Why did he do that?« Hermiod sounded confounded.

»He's uncomfortable with you being hairless,« Lorne said, then left the balcony.


End file.
